Whiskey and Wine
by Bunny Wilde
Summary: Everyone needs a little more Bender/Basketcase in their life, no matter how many times it's been done before. Just a short oneshot about their relationship after the film.


He drinks whiskey, and she drinks wine. The whiskey burns his throat and reminds him that he's alive. The wine makes everything brighter and reminds her that there is still warmth to be felt in the world. They do the same for each other—she makes him feel alive, and he makes her feel warm.

Her parents had bought her a car. She knew it was just a way to keep her out of their hair, and make it easier to pretend she wasn't really there, that child they never really wanted—with a car, she could go places, get out the way. It wasn't even a new car—a friend of the family was trying to ditch his old hippie van. However, it had one tremendously redeeming quality- it _was_ an old hippie van, and in the back, there was plenty of room.

Often times, when they'd both had a little too much to drink, they'd crash in the van for the night. Neither of them were missed at home, that's what made them different. If Claire, Andy, or Brian (maybe especially Brian) didn't come home at night, their parents would no doubt freak enough to call the cops and send out search parties. John and Allison didn't have that problem.

Neither one of them really knew when or how it started, their bizarre friendship. It just seemed to blossom out of nowhere. Allison had known, even on that fateful Saturday, as she watched John and Claire, that there was no hope for that relationship to blossom. Surely enough, come Monday, Claire couldn't do it—she couldn't stand up to her perfect, bitch friends, she couldn't even acknowledge the fact that she'd been on anywhere near friendly terms with John Bender, let alone kissed him.

What had she thought would be different with her and Andy? He had been a stronger person—he'd held out nearly two weeks before the pressure from his dad and his jock friends had been too much, and the two had split. Oddly enough, all she'd felt afterwards was relief, even as she left his championship patch taped onto his on his locker at the end of that day.

Bender had Saturday detention for the rest of his nature life, as far as Vernon was concerned, and the principal enforced that credo with a vengeance. Oddly enough, Allison found herself showing up at the school Saturdays as well. She didn't have a reason—she had nothing else to do. And Vernon couldn't really do anything to stop it. What was he going to do, give her detention for showing up uninvited, to detention? Eventually he just let it go. She was generally not much trouble, if a bit odd.

Bender's reaction had been typically… well, Bender, the first day he saw her there. He'd walked to the school in the same overcoat, the same glasses, and the same attitude one week after that original Saturday, what had seemed like an experience of an eerily alternate universe or a twisted dream at this point.

Bender had merely walked up to the school, seen her sitting on the steps, stopped, and, looking down at her, said, quiet simply, 'What the fuck are you doing here?'

She'd shrugged.

He continued to stare down at her, then, after a moment's contemplation, shrugged back. The two of them had entered the school in silence.

After that, it didn't really surprise either of them when Brian showed up. The shrug was passed around again, and the three of them settled into what would become routine for practically the rest of the school year.

It was only a short while after that when Allison's parents bought her the van. That was when she started giving Bender rides home.

She vividly remembers the day that she'd seen him walking to the school, and pulled over to pick him up, only to see one hell of a black eye covering his own left. He'd grudgingly agreed to let her give him a ride. Probably because she hadn't said anything about it.

They drove to the school in silence. It wasn't until Allison pulled into her usual parking spot and turned off the car that anything was said.

'So are you going to fucking ask or what?'

She looked at him, gazing steadily out at him from behind the dark bangs that she'd once again let fall over her face.

'Would you tell me?'

He'd stared back for a moment, and then breathed out slowly.

'You know.'

'I knew you weren't lying,' she replied, 'when you told us about what it was like at your house.'

'Yeah,' he grunted, running his thumbnail along the grooves in the fabric of his jeans.

'Yeah,' she echoed, quietly.

They looked at each other one last time, and then, simultaneously, they both pushed open their doors and got out, heading for the school, where, just like every other Saturday, Brian was waiting for them just outside the front doors.

One afternoon, after detention, after she dropped Brian off at his house, she looked at Bender as they were pulling away. She smiled with one side of her mouth, and then laughed, oddly.

'I've got wine.'

They drove to the parking lot behind the Sherman Shopping Mall, and crawled into the back of the van, where Allison had thrown a bunch of blankets and pillows, along with books, clothes and plethora of other random things, and pulled out a bottle of Merlot from Allison's endless Mary Poppins bag. Then John pulled a flask from his inside overcoat pocket.

'So,' he said, staring at her levelly, 'does the Basketcase drink whiskey?'

They stared each other down for a moment, before Allison grabbed the flask from his hand, uncapped it, and threw back a huge gulp. She came up with a manic grin on her face, and Bender couldn't help but to grin back.

They finished the flask. And the Merlot. And then they lay in the back of the van, staring at the ripped upholstery on the ceiling, the world outside the windows darkening around them.

'Hey, Basketcase,' said Bender, not taking his eyes off the ceiling, breaking the momentary companionable silence. 'You got my knife?'

'What?' asked Allison, laughing, looking over at him.

'My knife,' he repeated, turning to look at her, too.

She looked at him, that odd, almost chilling smile on her face, and then leaned forward, so her face was inches from his, narrowing her eyes a little as if she was trying to study his soul by using his face as a magnifying glass. He didn't look away from her eyes, but a moment later he felt a thin object being slipped into his hand. He gripped it, and then brought it up by his face, and, still not looking away, flipped open the switchblade.

'Thanks,' he said, smiling suddenly, and leaning back away from her, sitting up against the side of the van. 'You fucking little klepto.'

'I know.'

She watched him pocket the switchblade, and sighed. John caught her eye, and raised his eyebrow. Then the two of them started laughing.

She stopped laughing long enough to press the bottle of wine to her lips and tip the bottom skyward, trying to get whatever last drop of wine there might be inside. She gave up, and started laughing again, as she let the bottle fall from her mouth.

As the glass slid away, the tiniest of droplets landed on her bottom lip. She didn't seem to notice, still tipsy and laughing. Bender noticed, though.

'You… you got …' he started, leaning forward, his eyes hovering over her lips.

She wasn't laughing now.

He pulled her toward him, and captured her bottom lip with his mouth, running his tongue over it to find the drop of wine.

She relaxed, and let her body be guided by him as he pulled her closer, and slid back down onto the floor of the van. She could taste the whiskey on his tongue still.

She felt his fingers undoing the buttons of her sweater, and, in response, hers danced across his shirt. And, while he was too busy undressing her to realise it, she slipped her hand into his pocket, grinning, and took back his knife.


End file.
